


Stars Upon an Azure Sky

by Sphinxriddle



Series: Fragments of Voss [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Not Beta Read, Romantic Fluff, at least eventually as soon as i get to the second chapter, atm its just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21554386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sphinxriddle/pseuds/Sphinxriddle
Summary: Anniversary parties and dances are the bane of two Dragoons lives.First Chapter is filled with relatively fluffy nonsense and pining, second chapter will be explicit smut when ever im done with it.so yeah theres that.Enjoy!
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Fragments of Voss [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513865
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Estinien Wyrmblood x WoL Recommendations





	1. Dance Dance Ishgardian Revolution

Parties. Why did Aymeric always drag him to parties? Estinien Wyrmblood hated parties, almost as much as he hated dancing. Dance parties were his worst nightmare. Especially grand balls among the high houses, those were terrible, they added strangers and posturing to the mix. He barely tolerated people on good days, when they left him to his own devices but at parties? That wasn’t an option. Yet, there he stood, surrounded by a gaggle of strange young nobles asking him limitless questions he cared not to answer at the very type of get together he despised.

“Because Anniversaries are Important, Estinien,” His friend had told him. He was correct, of course but that didn’t explain why he was there, trying to find SOME place his crowd would leave him be. Anniversaries alone were not enough to convince the retired Azure Dragoon to deal with masses of people, even when said anniversaries were of the conclusive end of a war he very much had been a part of. 

“It will do the People good to see two of the wars most prominent figures at the event. Good for their moral.” Aymeric had continued then. The magic words that had the grumpy Elezen even consider stepping out of his social comfort zone. He’d quirked his brow. Intrigued. Realistically, the other figure could have been any number of people. Any of the Warriors of Light, perhaps Cid, or maybe even Aymeric himself. There was also a chance, however, it was a dear dear friend. One of the few people he gave a damn about. His fellow Dragoon, Danica Voss, who hated political functions as much as he. What kind of friend would he be if he willingly let her suffer alone? Thus, here he was, at this damned party, crowded by these damned people, hoping to spot his friend and make an escape. 

He scanned the crowds hoping to see that familiar face. It was difficult to see much of anything really, between the dancing bodies and the politicking lords in large groups akin to flocks of birds. Even more so with the incessant tugging at the sleeve of his dress shirt. He grimaced, and hoped that it was sour enough to send the young men and women swarming him away. Alas, it did naught but catch more of their interest; for to them he was some grand handsome mystery to be discovered, and his disdain only fascinated him further. Damn Aymeric if it was someone else. Anyone else.

When he eventually found her, his grimace only darkened. Danica was on the arm of the eldest son of the High House hosting the event. Artoirel de Fortemps was leading her around from grouping to grouping. Introducing her to the various vultures of high ishgardian society. She chatted, smiling, like it was second nature to her. He envied her skill at pretending to like things like this, and wondered what exactly the young count had said to get her to agree even show up. Probably something simple, like that it would help him greatly. She was always so ready to help people. 

She was the perfect socialite, charming and gregarious and not at all herself. 

The only things that gave away her discomfort at the act were subtle, small things. Things you’d have to know the Ala Mhigan woman well to even attempt to pick up on. Like how she twisted her long black hair around a finger on her free hand, showing worry, or how she hit those same fingers off the glass eventually handed to her, anxious. Sometimes she even looked over her shoulder, scanning the crowd herself with those mismatched eyes, golden and green, looking perhaps for the same out he was. 

Alas, her eyes were not so keen. Her smile faltered for a moment, and she turned back to the various guests she was to meet and greet. She faced the Eldest Fortemp, who was speaking to her, saying something that made her laugh that Wyrmblood couldn’t hear over the din of the music and the new, stronger pull on his sleeve, snapping his attention away. 

“Danica, are you sure you’re ok with this?” Artoirel asked in a low whisper, leaning closer to her in hopes she alone would hear it. Miss Voss gave a light laugh, as if Artoirel had spoken some hidden joke between the two, before leaning back in to give her own solemn nod. 

“You need not keep up our social customs if you don’t wish to. It really is enough that you joined us.” Her face remained firm, determined. She was sure of her course of action, and would not be swayed. No matter if it was her own fear, anxiety, or the Count who asked her to come trying to sway her.

“I’ve already caused enough societal upheaval for your family Artoirel.” she started, gaining her a harsh look from her companion. She shook her head again, almost sorrowfully. “I can deal with being uncomfortable with strangers for a spell if it helps you all in anyway.” She gave a weak smile.

“Plus, Neran made this dress. It would be a disservice to a master craftsman to do naught but sit in a corner and brood all night long.” This time, it was Artoirel who stifled a laugh, returning her weak smile with his own. 

“I never took you as one for brooding, DeeDee.” She shrugged, her shook his head. Exasperated with his companion and her strange strange ways. 

“Just going off the Dragoon stereotype, I mean, look around! The couple I can see have all chosen their own corners, or somehow created their own” Danica’s smile grew, giving the crowd a once over again, trying to find the eyes of a particular dragoon, but once again came up empty. She tried not to let the disappointment paint her face, she’d been looking forward to suffering alongside a friend. 

Exhaling, Artoirel straightened up, back to playing politics. The tired, neverending dance of the high houses, that this time at least, involved actual dancing. Moving to the side, he unhooked his arm from Danica’s, and then bowed to her with a practiced precision she could never hope to match.

“If you're so dead set on being uncomfortable, then I won’t stop you.” He whispered, on the way down. “But I will ask you at least let me have the first dance.” He smiled, extending a thin hand towards the warrior, who gladly took it without a second thought. In her mind, the longer she spent dancing with the few nobles she knew, the less time she had to spend dancing with those she didn’t. And the less time she spent dancing with those she didn’t know, the less time she had to spend dancing with those she didn’t like.

And so, it began. Artoirel taking her hand and leading her towards the marble dance floor where various lords and ladies already spun like twirling tops, magnificent, and utterly mesmerizing. Voss swallowed hard, already having regrets, fearful that she’d look more akin to a feral dog than the graceful swans these dancers seemed to be. Yet she continued onward, steeling herself for anything that may come, just as Artoirel and she began to dance in earnest.

Estinien leaned upon a pillar, looking into the crowd of swirling bodies, and sighed. He had been able to shake his crowd of followers for a moment, and took that time to breath. Breath and watch his fellow dragoon fit so well among the moving forms upon the floor. If he didn’t know any better, he’d take her for some kind of shapeshifter. The way she moved, dress glittering like it held all the stars in the sky on its inky black form. The way she laughed, her voice angelic and lit with joy. The way she acted, happy, relaxed even, glad to be there. The way she played the part that she needed to, always the gracious hero. Part of him was envious, another was sorry. 

Smiling to himself, he knew the truth of the matter. Though he hoped not all of it was acting, she deserved the rest.

“Do you want to Dance?” A voice startled him from his thoughts, and nearly made him jump. “Your watching them a lot, do you want to dance?” An unfamiliar Miqo’te woman looked at him with wide, fascinated eyes. Not too far behind her was the familiar red hair of another of the Warriors of Light, Neran if he remembered correctly. Oh thank the Fury, it wasn’t the cloud of courtiers he’d managed to shake here to torment him once again.

“No.” He shot back, scowling, attempting to recompose himself without having seemed bothered in the first place. Failing. He felt his face heat up a bit, though the woman didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t dance.” 

“Oh that’s a shame. I love dancing.” She sighed. “Are you watching the outfits then? That’s what’s Nerans doing.” She continued, nearly bouncing towards his face. Her enthusiasm was familiar, he untensed his shoulders and shook his head no once more. She sighed again, somehow even louder and more glum than the first. “Then what are you doing?” 

He didn’t answer her question, instead, his eyes scanned back over the swirling crowd. “Neran did an excellent job on that one.” He pointed to Voss, who spun by close enough to touch but far enough away that he was sure she didn’t see him. He closed his eyes, the image of dazzling form still fresh in his mind's eye, and nodded. The Miqo’te woman, whose name he still hadn’t learned, smiled wide. 

“Alright, First it's me.” Artoirel whispered to Danica as they spun. “Then who? I’ll lead us towards them.” With they way they spoke it felt more like an espionage mission that an anniversary ball. She fought the urge to laugh at the image, she’d make a terrible spy. 

“Why are you asking me? I haven't a clue!” She whispered back, looking around at the various waiting faces. Grimacing, she turned back to Artoirel, and shrugged.

“Fine. Let’s see.” Artoirel sighed, shaking his head. “You need to at least dance with one member of each of the houses. You’ve got Fortemp done with, of course, that leaves Durendaire, Haillenarte and Dzemael.” Danica scowled at the last name, her distant relatives held no love for the Ala Mhigan warrior. Artoirel nodded. “We should also have you dance with one of the heads of state. I take it Aymeric will work for that?”

Danica nodded solemnly. Aymeric was a dear friend, and a welcome reprieve from the strangers. That was a total of what? Four dances? That wasn’t too bad. Yeah that was like, maybe an hour, two if someone tried to talk to her. Nothing in the grand scheme of things. If she was lucky she could find friendly faces among two of the remaining house.. “That Should cover them all, then you’re free to find your own corner. Let me know if you need any materials to build your own.” 

As one song spun to an end, and for a second the twirling slowed, Artoirel led her towards a familiar looking gentlemen attempting to get some amount of dirt off a monocle. Danica smiled, Jannequinard de Durendaire may not have been a close friend, but he was a friendly face none the less. The Astrologian looked up at the two of them, and grinned. “Ah! Just as I expected!” 

Danica shook her head, with a smile on her face. Was that bullshit, or actual predictions coming true? She didn’t mind either way. As Artoirel and Jannequinard exchanged pleasantries, the Ala Mhigan once again looked for a familiar face, and this time, she found her mark. Ah how unsurprising it was to see him away from it all. Leaning against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest, a grimace on his face. He looked much like a ruffled bird as he was, disheveled compared to the refined nobles, angry looking where others faces spoke of joy. She tilted her head gently, waved her hand, and smiled. The faintest hint of one on his face was all she needed to know that her hello had been heard. 

Jannequinard gently tapped her shoulder, drawing her attention and snatching her hand from Artoirel. Estinien, sighed, dropping his eyes to the suddenly fascinating floor. They passed her around far too freely for his liking. Like she was some sort of fragile collectible, to be cherished and loved till the owner grew tired of its shine, only then to be traded away from something newer and more brilliant. He would just not stand for that, no, she should be able to do as she pleases! Beyond this noble play! He stuck to his courage, stood fast and then... then he heard the many many feet of the nobles he had lost.

“Ah there you are! Ser Azure Dragoon!” Danica would have to wait, he had to find his own freedom again. Turning to face the crowd he saw not just the nobles, but the face of a grinning Lalafel with a look in her eyes that spelled his doom. Tataru had Plans, and he was a part of them somehow. 

Shit.

Jannequinard danced well, Danica felt like she was struggling to keep up the entire time. Every five seconds she whispered some apology as he grimaced from where her unskilled feet had accidentally kicked him. Or stepped on him. Or both. It must have been dumb luck that stopped her from destroying Artoirels feet. By the Destroyer she’d have to send him something for this, a fruit basket? Is that what you get people whose feet you step on and shins you kick? Probably not. She’d ask Neran. Or Marci. No maybe she should ask Willow? Or Wynne Or... 

Names continued to flow into her mind as Jannequinard walked her rather quickly towards her next victim, Aymeric De Borel. Who smiled wide and warm at her, extending a hand even before the Astrologian came within reach with her. She whispered many final sorrys before saying her own goodbye to the Durendaire and turning towards her friend.

“I feel like I should already apologize.” She grimaced, before chuckling a bit at herself, more so out of anxiety than any actual comedy in the matter. Aymeric merely shook his head, never loosing that kind smile of his. Though, the more she looked at it, the more there seemed to be some sparkle of mischief in it. She should know! Mischief was her brand! She raised an eyebrow as she took his hand and was once more lead towards the dance floor. 

“No need, Danica.” He said, moving with practice and ease despite her own flailings. Somehow almost compensating for her missteps. “If anyone should be preemptively apologizing it should be me, though I’m afraid I cannot say for what for.” Ah, it hadn’t been imaginary, Danica smiled, pleased at herself, then stumbled over her own feet as it really sunk in. Aymeric stifled a laugh, gracefully dodgin her flailing limbs and saving his shins from bruising. 

“I’m sorry what? Not even a hint?” Danica whined, knowing well enough that if Aymeric was truly set on this matter no amount of pestering would aid her. A trait she had as well, but also one she hated when it was against her. 

“I’m afraid not, and you can promptly throw that apology out the window  _ if  _ the evening goes according to my not so nefarious plan” He chuckled at himself some more, spinning her ‘round with a flourish. “For if it goes to plan, it will be a lovely night for us all.” He grinned, though his eyes were elsewhere. Danica looked over her shoulder, following his eyes, and fought the urge to laugh herself. Poor Poor Estinien, as frazzled as he could possibly be, being chased by Tataru and a gaggle of young men and women who seem focused on gaining his attention. 

“Must you torture him so?” She mused, looking away and shaking her head. He smiled. 

“No, that part was Tataru’s idea.” He nodded towards the Lalafel, who nodded back. “Something about a heavy hand being needed for our machinations.”

“Oh you’re working together then. That cannot be good.” She smiled, even as she said such things. “I pity what ever you have in store for him.”

“Not just for him, for you as well.” Aymeric leaned in, that mischievous smile still painted on his face. She shuddered, sudden worry welling within her. Though she doubted her friends held ill intentions, she couldn’t help but remember the time Tataru had ambushed her for her measurements. Her face must have shown her sudden apprehension, for Aymeric laughed.

“I have no idea what you could possibly be planning, but I don’t like it.” She whispered, leaning in. He simply smiled. 

“It shall give you plenty to think about during your next dance no?” He brought the two of them to a slow stop, looking around the edge of the floor for whoever he was to hand her off to. Danica furrowed her brows, and held onto his arm tight, indignant, but aware she really didn’t have a leg to stand on. Hopeful, that perhaps remaining unmoving, uncompromising, she might get an inkling of what ever the hells they were planning. Alas, Aymerics eyes scanned the crowd instead, fully devoted to the plan of “Something Nefarious, Something Secret, Something totally not for sharing with one over curious target.” Danica sighed.

“You’re absolutely evil, you know that?” He laughed, and shook his head. 

“Tell me that again tomorrow, and I’ll accept that it’s true.” Aymeric bowed to her, before taking a step back. “But now I leave you in the capable hand of-”

“Danica! Excellent! I managed to Grab you before Francel could.” A pair of familiar, strong hands grabbed her arm and spun her around. Aymeric laughed. Stephanivien de Haillenarte smiled wide at the Warrior. “How have you been? Has the Rook been helpful to you? You must tell me everything about what you’ve observed!” 

Danice smiled, Perhaps only one of these dances would be terrible. Chatting with friends these other times? Far far from terrible. Even if she had to avoid kicking them in the shins, or profusely apologize if she failed in that endeavour. Talking, just with the added hazard of spinning, how bad was that?

“Something the matter Danica?” Stephanivien asked, midway in their conversations and bare minimum of dancing, with a concerned look on his face. Did she really wear that apprehension of that one terrible dance on her face? She had hoped that her mask of jovial and brilliant fire was without flaw. Apparently she was wrong. 

“I’m not too fond of dancing, especially with people I’m not familiar or uh...” she let words hang in the air, allowing her eyes to travel to the cluster of House Dzemael members on the far end of the floor. Stephanivien nodded, without even looking away. She shivered, though they had stopped sending people after her after they thought they had killed her Father, she never felt comfortable around those of the main branch. Honestly, she only really felt comfortable around her Father, Orlaux, and the Jandelaine.

“Don’t worry about that my friend,” Stephanivien managed to snap her from her thoughts. “I’ll keep us moving for a long as possible, even if I’ll border on “Rude” Danica smiled, thankful, and returned their conversation to matters of life, and invention.

Estinien was not so lucky. Not only had he been unable to shake his followers, now Tataru has urged them to get him to dance. That “Perhaps if one Azure Dragoon was part of all the action he wouldn’t be nearly so glum.” Oh the cruelties and machinations of that woman. He would not allow her the victory however. No he would not dance if he did not wish to. And he very much did not want to. 

“Ah there you are my friend!” Aymeric, that bastard, now stood blocking his only remaining avenue of escape. The window. Was he in on this? Turning to face the crowd of nobles and Tataru, the look on the Lalafel’s face told him he was. Wyrmblood sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, while one noble chanced enough to grab his sleeve and tug. Begging to Dance.

“What do you want?” He asked, short, to both the noble and his friend. The noble, bless their soul, just repeated their request for a dance that once again fell on deaf ears. Aymeric simply smiled.

“For you to have a good time, my friend, mostly.” Aymeric tilted his head, and beckoned to the young noble who skipped over to the Knight Commander with a dejected look upon their face. “You, and others.” Estinien somehow doubted that. 

Scanning the crowd, he once more sought to find Danica. Who he was sure was probably having equally as bad a time, perhaps even worse, than he. And lo and behold, he was correct. She stood, clutching the hands of the damned eldest son of house Haillenarte while two other strangers stood in front of them, arguing loudly over who would get to dance with her next. Stephanivien? Was that the sons name? He scowled, turning back towards his hunters and their hounds. 

“I’d have a good time by not being hunted like some prized elk.” He barked back, a few of the nobles recoiled, Aymeric merely shook his head. Tataru, she crossed her arms. Loudly across the dance floor a son of house Dzemael and a member of Ul’dah’s Syndicate argued louder still, causing a scene and no end of discomfort and anxiety to a Warrior of Light. Stephanivien attempted to calm them, Danica merely shuddered. 

Estinien crossed his arms over his chest and let out a very audible hmph. Tataru placed her hands on her hips and sighed. Aymeric, however, was not so keen on giving up on their joint endeavour. “Well then, Dance with one of them!” He offered, pointing to the small crowd gathered behind the dragoon, who promptly waved and bowed and cheered, trying to gain any favor or attention they could. Leaning in, aymeric continued. “Then look at this way, you’ll only have to deal with one of them.”

Estinien shook his head, would it really be worth it? Ten or so minutes of discomfort among a stranger to only have to deal with one stranger for the rest of the evening? Would it actually disperse them or would he be back among the web of attention he wished so hard to be freed from? His eyes traveled back to Danica, standing almost behind damned Stephanivien as he tried again and again to calm the arguing noble and merchant. Her mask, that acting, slowly slipping as the obvious anxiety of the moment was bleeding into her eyes, her brows, her lips. She was dancing, but yet they passed her around like a top. She was not afforded that, one single uncomfortable thing. A small smile tugged at his lips. 

He’d fix that.

Without a word, he walked away from his gathered groupies towards the arguing bunch far on the other side of swirling mass of bodies. He stormed through the vitriolic Dzemael Noble and Syndicate Merchant, knocking them both to the floor, and then continued towards the Machinist and Danica. Stephanivien took a surprised step back, being the first person of the evening to step on the Ala Mhigan’s toes, and not the other way around. She yelped, He turned on a dime, Estinien rammed into his shoulder spinning him totally and sending him to the ground as well. 

Ah what a scene they were making. Eyes Wide, Danica let out a surprised gasp as he grabbed her hands and dragged her further into the mass of bodies. 

Aymeric and Tataru, far behind, merely smiled. 

Pulling her close, he whispered to her, attempting to sound confident even with his eyes unsure and hands unsteady in hers. “Looks like you needed a rescue.” She smiled, ruffled but thankful, gently squeezing his hand. 

“As did you!” She whispered back, her smile returned, genuine. “I take it you have some brilliant plan?” She tilted her head, raising a brow. Honestly, he hadn’t thought he’d get that far, but she didn’t need to know that. He straightened up, looking among the crowd and their practiced movements, and swallowed hard. 

“We dance.” He blurted out after a moment. “We dance and we don’t stop.” Danica blinked repeatedly, unsure if she had heard him correctly. Dance? Endlessly? With Estinien? What was this? One of the romance novels she was fond of, that she hid deep in her pack as she traveled, away from prying eyes? Suddenly her shoes were very fascinating and her face very warm. Estinien leaned forward, worried that he may have overstepped even with the lax limits of their friendship.

By Rhalgr he was so close, mere breaths away, she felt her face warm further. She must have been a terrible red, not some like, excusable pink. She flicked her eyes upward to him, seeing the worried, gentle look in his eyes, and managed to regain that honest smile. She inhaled deeply, cementing her courage. This was as friends. Friends helping friends avoid uncomfortable social interactions. Just Friends. No matter the closeness no matter how hard her heart beat. He was her friend. Nothing more.

She gave a solid nod, sure of herself now. Yes, this plan, though rude, would work. She was very lucky to have such a good friend, willing to risk any reputation he had to save her from the damned dances and discomfort of strangers. Or perhaps they were lucky to have each other, given he didn’t seem keen on his followers either. Her smile grew. “Thanks.” She whispered.

And so, they began. Estinien taking slow, unsure steps further onto the floor. Trying his best to mimic what he saw, while Danica tried to not injure him with her own missteps. They were rough, unpolished creatures, trying to hard to pick at the facade of their fellows and plaster it to their movements. Claim their refined ways as their own. It might have been appalling, to someone with actual skill and acumen in the field but between the two of them, it was as a secure fortress built around them. Defending them from unwanted advances. 

As they continued, one song turned into two, which turned into three which bled into an eternal fourth, and the fortress their dancing became less about defense and more about home. Their hands settled into each others, a warmth in their touch that relaxed them both. Their steps became less measured, less about copying those around them, and more about purely where they wished to go themselves. Meandering more than dancing, slowly swaying with her arm around his shoulder and hand in his. Humming the tunes swirling around them much like she might a song she heard in passing on the road, with nothing but a passing familiarity and a touch of dreaminess in her voice. 

An unprompted smile crept onto Estinien’s face as the night droned on. Growing only as she placed her head upon his shoulder, growing tired but not wishing to end their gentle dancing. Slowly, as songs bled into one another and bodies left the dance floor, he slipped his fingers between hers, holding her hand more thoroughly, humming along with her. He felt her chuckle against his chest. He saw the distant Dzemael and Syndicate members fume still, and he chuckled as well. 

Slowly, as the parties numbers grew thinner still, he rested his head atop hers. Chin nesting in her long black hair. Eyes heavy, he closed them and simply continued to dance. Not giving a care who they might run into, or what looks rested on the face of those they had shunned. 

Neither noticed when the music stopped, and the only sound left was their footsteps and gentle humming. Neither noticed when the numbers in the hall became so few that they could be counted upon one hand. Neither noticed the Elder Count Fortemp, Tataru, Aymeric watched them from some of the few remaining chairs, with fond smiles upon their lips. Neither could be interrupted from their relieved, elated, swaying. Neither could be torn from their warm closeness, enveloping them like night enveloped the world. 

Soon even their friends began to file out. Aymeric being responsible, returned to his home for work awaited him in the morning. Tataru simply wishing to be free of Ishgards cold claimed something similar, and willed herself to the first ride out towards Revenant's Toll. Leaving only Count Edmont, and the Azure Dragoons. Though it had been some time since either of them claimed that as their true title.

It was good, seeing them so relaxed. So genuinely happy. Count Edmont smiled wide, he hated the idea of interrupting them, but knew, sooner or later, someone was bound to. Someone was going to drag them back to their bloodsoaked reality and away from their Elysian dreams. He’d much rather have the poor soul to do so at least be one who cared for them. So thus, he slowly approached the two, still oblivious to his passage, humming their own tune and dancing to the gentle beat of each other's hearts.

“Danica, Ser Wyrmblood” He spoke, his words thunderous in the sudden silence. Their eyes snapped open, and with lightning speed, faced him wide and startled. “As much as I’m sure you two you enjoy dancing till there was naught but a hole where you once walked, I’m afraid I must ask the two of you to at least try to turn in for the night.” He laughed, good natured. 

Danica looked around, panicked for a moment, stepping back from Estinien but keeping her fingers laced with his. Alone, they had danced until they were alone. Just like in those books. Taking a deep breath, she looked back to her partner Dragoon, who had but a sleepy smile on his face, and exhausted look in his eyes. “Plus I’m sure you two are both quite exhausted, now that your back among the waking.” Count Edmont continued. 

We’re they tired? Danica couldn’t tell. Her arms felt airy, light, anchored to only where Estinien’s intertwined with hers. No, not tired. Not yet. Her legs felt restless, warm. Yes they were far from done. Her partner Dragoon gave her hand a gentle squeeze, so gentle she thought she had perhaps imagined it, as romance muddled as her thoughts were. Her foolish foolish thoughts. For he was her friend. 

“I take it that’s less of a “Go Rest” and more of a “Please we’re trying to clean up leave.”” She laughed, back towards Count Edmont, distracting herself from the downturn of her thoughts, the breaking of the happy illusion she allowed herself to dream the few hours past. Edmont simply nodded, laughing along with her.

“I am afraid so, Danica. You are, as always, welcome to rest here in the manor.” The elder elezen bowed, motioning to the far doors where Danica knew she all but had a permanent room. One she’d left almost abandoned in the years since the end of the war. Too busy to even think of returning to any home, let alone this one. She considers it, for one she knew it would have a comfortable bed, but on the other hand her other hand was still very much her fellow dragoons prisoner. And one she had no intention of freeing, if she had a choice in the matter. 

“The Forgotten Knight shall suffice,” Estinien’s rumble shook her from her deliberation, much to her own shock. She turned to face him, only to be met with the same gentle exhaustion in his eyes that he had moments before. “At least for me, and I wouldn’t mind the company, We’ve much to catch up on, yes?”

“I...” She hesitated, sorrow began to enter his eyes, a mournful look of acceptance, his normal scowl, but somehow more. She felt his hand begin to slip away, and in a rush, grabbed it with her free hand, cradling it between the two. “I agree. We do, and the Forgotten Knight sounds a lovely place to do so.” 

His sorrow faded, and his other hand quickly joined hers. Warm. She looked not to his face, but hoped a smile rested there. Her mind idley began to consider things far from the realm of possibilities, inspired by the gentle pressure of his knuckles on her own. This night could not have been real. “Then Good Evening to the two of you,” Count Edmont nodded, “And Danica, It was good to see you home again.” 

With a few final farewells, they departed into the empty night streets of Ishgard for a place promised to still be filled with life even that late at night. A light snow fell, twinkling like the stars captured in her dress in the few lit lamp lights. He stalled behind her, gazing with pure admiration and perhaps even affection as she dragged him by his hand forward. No, outright affection. He wasn’t enough of a fool to pretend he didn’t know what his heart was screaming, even if there was no way it was possibly returned. 

On a whim, he pulled back on her hand. Startling her, a gasp that quickly turned to melodious giggles as she crashed into his chest. Gently, he reached for her other hand once more, as if they were back on the marble dance floors of the high houses and not the broken cobble of the streets near the Forgotten Knight. And slowly, with a raised eyebrow and a look of confusion on her face, she took it just like she had before.

She felt her face warm, though she was no longer sure if it was emotion, or simply the cold winter wind biting through the open back of her dress. She shivered, at least she could claim it was the weather. At least she could for a moment, until she felt the warmth of a heavy coat wrapped around her shoulders, and fastened shut. 

“You are as a snow mound, Voss.” Her companion started, adjusting his jacket upon her shoulders. “Your likely to harm yourself, mayhaps others with how you shiver so.” His voice was gentle, his hands returning to hers, rubbing the backs of them for warmth as he himself shivered now bereft of his winter wear. 

“As are you!” She chided, though she did not move to return his jacket. It’s heavy warmth was comforting, and his hands a welcome shield from the bitter winds. He smiled, an actual, god damn proper smile not any one of his tiny smirks or snarls, and laughed. She was sure now she must be dreaming, that she would wake up and find that she hadn’t even gone to the party yet at all. 

“Well good thing we’re not to be out here long then. Now, shall we continue?” Continuing their passive meandering through the streets of Ishgard, Estinien took the lead towards the tavern. Swinging their joined hands through the winter air, thinking still of dancing, dreamlike and captive only to their own whims. He considered, for a moment, spinning with her again, dancing with her again, even without the music. He considered, and then he did. 

Humming loudly, keeping time with their footsteps, forever moving forward towards the now audible roar of the tavern, they danced once more. At peace with whatever they were then. Friends, yes, but perhaps considering adding to that equation something a bit more. Unsure, however, were they about the chances of such things, and in the end were they really willing to risk what they already had on a maybe?

They were not, at least not then.

The Forgotten Knight was alive with the bustle of the city even this late at night. The hearts blood of civilians, drinking, toasting, relaxing after their work filled days. It roared like a fire. It beat like a heart. It was so very very beautiful and so very very alive. By the time they tumbled in their noses were red and runny, arms sore and cold, and less dancing and more casually falling into each other in exhaustion. They laughed, and it echoed, joining the cacophony of sounds that was the inn. Gods, she loved inns.

She loved their warmth and their vigor and someday, someday if she was lucky, she’d have one all her own. Stumbling down the stairs, Estinien had to catch Danica before she face planted upon the wooden floors, so lost in thought was she. Blinking repeatedly, she laughed, righting herself, but not leaning away from the sirens call of his warmth. 

“Thanks, seems I’m more tired than I initially thought.” She smiled, squeezing his arm lightly. He raised an eyebrow, unable to hear her words truly above the din. She repeated herself, once more louder, but again Estinien merely tilted his head in confusion, then shook his head. He wouldn’t contend with the voices of the city while trying to do something as simple as catch up with a dear friend, the fellow dragoon who had managed to chip at his heart and make a home there. The echoing noises were swirling in his head, clouding it, making it even harder to think than when it was just the two of them in the snow.

The two staggered towards the Innkeeper, exchanging gil for a nice warm room with a fire deep within the building, and headed there with as much haste as their very tired limbs could give them. Which was to say, they wandered slowly towards it, grasping at each other for support when their own bodies failed them. Arms around shoulders one moment. Hands on chests the next. Shoulders bumping against others following that. A mess of tangled touches and supporting grasps all the way to the door. 

Heavy fingers worked to open the locks while lazy hands lingered on faces. Low murmurs of swearing, and thanks echoing between them, flittering laughter from Danica, hums from Estinien. No sense to the words, exhaustion so heavy it ate at their minds. Once the lock complied, they all but collapsed into the room. Onto a well worn couch, that creaked under their combined and sudden weight. 

“So Catching up?” Danica asked, trying to find some manor of comfortable position to lay herself down and rest her weary limbs. She tried to lay across the couch, throwing her legs across estinien, she tried to crunch up in a ball with her arms tightly cocooning her legs, she tried simply sitting correctly, but yet nothing felt perfect. She was by far the worst goldilocks around. 

“Do we even have the energy for that now?” He replied, exhaustion in his voice, eye lids heavy. He chuckled as she tried and failed to find any amount of comfort. It really wasn’t too bad of a couch, he knew she was just particular, picky even, when it came to warmth.

“What? Is the Great Azure Dragoon tired already?”she laughed, an idea sparkling in her sleepy mind. Slowly, as she had done many times before, the smaller of the two Dragoons crawled atop the others lap and simply sat there. Ah. Comfortable.

“I’m retired remember, and I don’t think you technically have the title anymore either.” He shook his head, exasperated, as she turned atop his lap to face him. Without prompting, he wrapped his arms around her back for support, in case the exhausted Ala Mhigan decided falling backwards in some state of sleep was wise. He didn’t enjoy the concept of explaining to their friends “ah yes, she fell off the couch and bruised herself something fierce” let alone actually seeing it happen. 

“Ah yes, because you’re an old man, Old Mr. Retired.” she joked, a smile on her lips as she leaned closer, hugging him in return. As if there was no other reason for his arms there beyond just a hug. 

“Not all of us can be realm saving heros forever, Deedee, some of us like to rest every once in a while.” As he would like to do just then, his eyes becoming harder and harder to keep open by the second.

“Deedee.” She parroted. Her fingers gently poking his cheek when he didn’t respond to her repetition. “You called me Deedee.” Her hand lingered on his face, even after he cracked open one eye and raised an eyebrow.

“Tis’ your nickname, or has it been outlawed sometime when we were apart?” He never called her that, he knew. It was always Voss. Or Danica, on a good day. Never Deedee. She looked perplexed at this change, and honestly he wasn’t sure what prompted his choice, but it felt correct. 

“Thank you.” Her words caught him off guard, he had expected some sort of questioning, something he would need to find an answer quickly. The fact that she did not press further. That she instead traced his chin as her hand fell to greet the other behind him in a hug. That she laid her head upon his shoulder, closing her eyes as she did so. That surprised him. “Thank you, Estinien.” 

Soon, as he worked through his confused stupor, sleep stole her away to dreams he hoped were far sweeter than their night had been. This would be a good enough bed for the two of them really, they’d managed in much worse. The Moogles of the Churning Mists had wreaked havoc on their sleeping arrangements more than once, on the venture that felt like a lifetime ago. Pulling her closer, he rested his head atop hers, and allowed sleep to steal him away as well. 


	2. Consuming Inferno

The sun slowly peeked through the blinds of the Forgotten Knights many inn rooms. Giving a sort of early morning peace to its inhabitants, some still sore from the night before, others sleeping still, blissfully unaware of the days movements. One such soul to blink languidly into wakefulness was Estinien Wyrmblood, still a prisoner to the Ala Mhigan woman straddling his lap and treating his shoulder like a comfortable feather pillow. Her gentle breathing and quite murmuring almost succeed in dragging him back into nights embrace, but something else something less fragile and serene nailed him to the present.

A biological, and potentially awkward something. With her plastered so against him, snoring ever so slightly, his body had created more than a little tent in his dress pants. One she was sure to notice if she did so much as breathe wrong. And what then, would he say to his dear friend, so warm against him, so soft. 

Panic slowly began to well in his slow moving mind. What would she say? What would she do? Would she understand the awkwardness of the situation or would this forever sit at the peripheries of their friendship. A shadow he could not dispel. Not to say he would adore some other reaction, somehow some positive light. But luck had never favored him so. 

“Danica.” He whispered, hoping to wake her gently. His travels with her told him that she was not a morning person. That she was a sleepy creature who preferred to remain warm and docile long into the day, until the sun sank below the horizon and the moon graced them with its presence. His tired mind was poetic, it better stop that. 

“Danica, wake up.” He repeated, with a fraction more force. Some deep part of him cursed him for even attempting to wake the sleeping form of his partner Dragoon. She deserved the rest, after all she’d done for him, how dare he attempt to wake her simply because the situation may get awkward. He attempted, with little success, to poke her sides sharply, wake her via touch. She stirred, if only a bit. He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Grumbling something unintelligible however, she did not move from his lap. Instead, she left his shoulder behind to nestle her face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling it gently with her nose before falling quickly back to sleep. Somehow, by waking her, he had made the situation  _ worse.  _ She could probably hear his pounding heart, beating faster and harder by the second in anxiety. She could probably feel his shallow anxious breathing, and the shaking of his fingers nestled against her back. By the Fury, by the Fury, this was bad. Her breath tickled his skin, and his entire body burned with fear. 

If he closed his eyes, he could just envision what it would be like if she was but a smidge closer. If her lips caressed his neck, if her hands entwined with his, if they lay together like this for an eternity. It was electric, invigorating, a beautiful thought that brought goosebumps to his skin and a heavy flush to his cheeks. He groaned, snapping his eyes open before he could continue to make this situation worse with more of his idle fantasies. 

A strand of her hair came loose from the plaits that held it, finally done attempting to hold strong after a night of dancing and strange sleeping arrangements. Perhaps, If he moved carefully, he could get her off his lap without waking her, or moving her head. He just couldn't envision what it would be like if she moved her lips from his neck down his chest. What it would be like if she tangled her fingers in his hair as carnal waves stole her sense. What it would be like if those dreams from lonely nights were a physical reality he could hold, exhausted from the throes of passions.

A pained whine escaped his lips. This was getting worse and worse by the second, snowballing like an awkward avalanche. Alright. Time to move her. Slowly he wrapped his hands around her side, inhaled, and attempted to lift. He wasn't weak, nor was she particularly heavy, but his focus elsewhere made the task more difficult than it had any right being. Hard enough that he faltered, that he failed, and made his desire all the more obvious. 

Her breath faltered at his neck. Her eyes blinked open. Everything has gone horribly wrong.There was no saving this situation. She looked up at his with curious, bleary, sleep filled eyes. Eyes that glittered in the early morning sun. The forest, and the sunlight dancing through the leaves. His own dull grey ones must have looked frightening, terrified and wide as they were. Afraid that through his own actions and daydreams he wrecked a dear friendship beyond all repair.

A friendship, his dearest friendship. His partner Dragoon. 

Who painted his dreams alive, vivid for once in his damned life.

A heavy silence fell over the pair. Danica blinking herself more awake while the pounding of his heart deafened all of his reason. She’d never speak to him again, he was sure. She’d cast him out with cruelties on her beautiful lips reserved for the most vile of her adversaries. She’d strike his name from her history and burn all thought of him from her mind. She had the magic to, probably, if she wanted to. He had to think of something, anything, to save this. This friendship he wished was so much more. He swallowed hard, and found any of his words empty. 

Voss, wrapped in a mantle of sleep that was quickly being torn from her shoulders, blinked again. Yes, her perception was correct. Forgotten Knight. Couch. Estinien. Lap. Sleep.  _ Oh.  _ Her face took on a pleasant flush that twisted Estinien’s gut into knots. She contemplated pinching herself. She might just be asleep still, following silly daydreams down the rabbit hole of longing her heart had made long ago. But ultimately decided against it, If this was to be a dream, than let it be fantastical in all ways. Let her heart beat wildly and happily while in the arms of the one she wished could hear the very desires of her soul. 

Slowly, she unwrapped an arm from behind his back. Her movement was languid, her arms still more than a bit sore from the night before. A light smile played at her cheeks, dreamy when mixed with her brilliant tired eyes. His mouth hung open, confused, a mind racing at a million miles an hour without any idea as to what direction it should go. That is, until her hand touched his cheek, gently caressing it, tilting her head ever so slightly. 

He was stunned, shocked, and for a moment did naught but look at her with wide confused eyes. The warmth of her palm burning on his skin, alive. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. So very very alive. He leaned into her warmth, nuzzling her hand ever so slightly, a slight smile of his own forming on his lips. 

Perhaps, he need not worry after all. 

Danica inhaled, more aware now, and screwed her courage fast. Take this leap. Make this plunge. If dreams are to be dreams, why should she be limited by her own anxiety in the face of such love.What, though, if this was not a dream? What if she was misreading his actions, his reactions, his openness to such advances? 

No. She was never one for second guesses.

Soon, her other hand joined the first on his face. He was tired still, sore no doubt, exhausted from life. But he looked better than he had been. On the cusp of collapsed into the endless void of rage that consumed many before. He looked beautiful. No, He was beautiful and she loved him. 

And she would not keep that a secret, locked away in her heart of hearts, anymore.

She brought her face closer to his, breath hitching as she hovered so close to his lips. One last flicker of doubt flashed through her mind, one that she doused as soon as it reared its head. Put out simply by the closing of that gap, of the gentle touch of her lips upon his, gentle, softly, frightful and beautiful in its vulnerability. Vulnerable. Something they both were in this inn room. Alone, save for each other, with their bright bleeding hearts. Unarmored, but very well armed. Trusting each other not to shatter their fragile connection, as with a hopeful fervor he returned her kiss. Heart singing.

When they are forced to separate by the need for air Danica couldn't help but giggle. Bubbly. Their foreheads pressed together. Their breath tickling each others cheeks. Their hair dancing entwined with the others, black as night and as silvery as the stars that rest there. His arms pulled her close, knocking their noses against each other creating another burst of giggles in the Ala Mhigan, only so he could bury his face in her hair.

“Let this be real, Fury please, let this be real.” He whispered, deliverance in his arms but prayers yet on his lips. Danica nodded, wordless, excited. Heard his pleas but yet they did not sink in. A dream so real that she could yet taste him on her tongue. “Kiss me again.” Words echoing in warm air. “I beg you, kiss me again.” The petition of a starving man, thirsting for something divine.

Who was she to deny him?

What at first was gentle transformed into something desperate. Her hands left his face to tangle among the strands of his hair, earning her a muffled moan from Wyrmblood. His own wandering hands bunched up her dress at the back, fingers clawing into the fabric wishing it was the warmth of her skin. Trying but to hold her closer to him still. 

It is as if they had been pulled beneath a raging ocean of wants and desires. Drowning to their own dreams, suddenly coming to fruition. Her hands left his hair to his neck, and then to his chest, grasping at the purple fabrics buttons with a fury new to her. Cursing its buttons, hungering to feel his beating heart beneath her hands.The further fuel the fire at their lips. Slipping his own hands beneath her dress, her ran strong fingers up her legs, and couldn’t stop the wide smile on his face as she shivered. Real or not, this was enjoyable.

He moved his lips from hers, dipping down her jaw line, tracing down her neck. He enjoyed how she dropped her hands from his chest, distracted, bringing them back into his hair, holding him close, tasting her fluttering heartbeat. Simply having each other, in whatever what way their bodies desired. Yes, that was... exactly what was going on. Here, unceremoniously. On that couch. 

No, that would not do, not in the slightest.

If this was to be a dream unlike any other, he’d do things properly. On a bed not unlike the unused one in the far corner of the room. He ran his hands down her legs as far as he could reach, yes, they were wrapped around him tightly. That would do rather well. He chuckled, what fiend had possessed him that suddenly made him so sure of himself, his actions. 

Securely holding her rear, plastering her chest against his, now free of the confines of that blasted shirt, he stood. Laughter from his dear lady the only real indication of any change in their position. A song he’d never grow tired of hearing.

They fell into the bed together. He laid her down gingerly atop the blankets, she pulled him down forcefully following.He laughed, loud and honest, and smiled into her neck as he held her. Simply breathing her in for a moment, so very glad she was yet alive. She twisted his hair around her fingers, humming lightly as he kissed her neck, praying silently that she did not wake. This would be a dream worth an eternity of night.

Slowly, as if to savor the extent of their dream, they removed what little remained of each others clothing. Her dress, pulled over her head, lay in a pile in the corner wrinkling more and more by the second. His pants hung from the headboard, having gotten caught on the wooden frame when he threw them. Her small clothes a crumpled pile near the door, his own lost to parts unknown. Leaving them bare to each other, interest obvious begging for more serious attention.

But yet, Estinien paused. Kneeling upright, he simply gazed down at her with hooded loving eyes. She was so magnificent, awe inspiring even. Her strong form littered with the marks of life, scars that mirrored his own, and decorated finely with ink of her own volition. A swirling dragon on her left arm, Scaled head ending at her wrist, engulfing her palm in inky blue fire. Another, along the curve of her back, of a sword thin but true surrounded with swirling magics both white and black. Beautiful. So Damn Beautiful. 

He moved closer, allowing his fingers to trace lines of ink and his mouth scars. She smiled, and made some light hearted but suggestive comments about cartography. He chuckled. His heart fluttering in time with ever slight drag of his teeth across healed skin, and every slight gasp from her magnificent lips.

He wondered what it might be like to be one of her many works of art, plastered across her skin. To have the gift, nay the blessing of being so close to her warmth. To forever be touching her. No matter the time, no matter the moment. War or Peace, Sleep or waking. With her always.

Then, his mind dreams of what it might be like not to be one of her tattoos per say, but instead be the subject of one of them. What bond it might build between them, he wondered, if her name was upon his chest, and his upon hers. Above his heart, where she claimed singular dominion. 

He must have lost himself in those idle romantic fantasies. For he found himself gazing deeply into her eyes, into her red cheeked face and brilliant smile, with naught but his own smile to answer for his thoughts. Snapped back to reality only when he felt her hands grasp the side of his face, and once more pull him to her lips. Frantic and desperate, suddenly very aware of how close she came to losing the very possibility of this moment. 

She wished to feel his heartbeat beneath her hands, though it was erratic as her breathing was. She wished to taste his tongue, embrace its warmth, knowing full well it was true flesh she held in her arms. To know he is alive. To know he is with her. To know that her actions were not in vain. He gladly gives her just that, and more with gentle murmurs of her name, gentle nips at her neck sure enough to last for a spell afterwards, with lingering wandering fingers oh so very warm to the touch.

Breaking their kiss, he once more paused. Eyes gazing deep into her own, heavy with further desire. Oh so much desire it  _ hurt.  _ He wished to have her. To hold her. To connect with her so much more physically but... 

“May we continue?” A gentle plea, breathy against her lips. One to which she smiled, and replied with a simple.

“Please.” Before stealing to his lips once more.

As his hands moved, now with defined purpose, his heart skipped a beat. This dream or reality, whatever it may be, was the sweetest in creation. He would carry it with him, in his heart, forever. His fingers shook as he delved between her legs, watching with rapt, hypnotized eyes as she sighed contently. Exploring first wide, paying hawkeyed attention to every little gasp and moan, only then to test her depths truly.

Oh the warmth of her, nothing like the inferno that rested within. Fire, burning brilliant flames that caressed and enveloped first one finger, then two, than with a pleading look a third, he felt alight with it. He dare not imagine what the comfort of that conflagration might feel like holding his own, else he might not make it to even experience such a thing, as weeping as he was now. 

Her low moans and gasps were new music to him, a new song that wrapped around his heart and dug in deep. Primeval. Perfect. And one he wished to echo back to her with whatever he could. 

Removing his fingers, he was greeted with a frustrated whine and a pout painted across her face. Good. He had been doing something right. He leaned forward, kissing her deeply, running a free hand up her back, enjoying how she arched into his touch. Relished the feeling of her fingers upon his chest, dragging slowly down them towards...

He grasped her hand, smiling into her lips. “ ‘fraid I do not have the strength for your lovely hands this day, Dee” he murmured to her neck, releasing her hand, allowing it to continue a different path up his back instead. 

He felt her nails dig into his shoulder blades as he lined himself up and finally threw caution enough to the wind to dive into her depths more truly. To truly be her spear. A plaintive moan escaped him, losing its way among the tangles of her hair he had pressed his head into. Electric jolts of ecstasy, of euphoria shoot through them. His name a low murmur in his ear, a brand upon his soul.

He thought nothing could surpass that moment, that initial electric sensation of their connection. He was wrong. As he first began to move within her he felt that inferno engulf him, consume him, and bring him to life. Her voice a chorus and his the wordless echo of grunts and growls and moans. Growing in intensity and volume as he threw more speed into his motions. Her fingers dug deep across his back, the aching raised pathways a beautiful relic of this moment, this beautiful dream. 

She crashed her lips to his neck, trying to ground herself from the flurry of sensations that had overcome her. To no avail, the world simply became as stars, spinning round her as her partners breath grew erratic and forceful. This could not be a figment of her imagination. This could be no dream. The tastes were too real the churning wave rising of tension rising within her too tangible. She'd snap soon. Unwind upon him, in his arms.

She wrapped her arms right around his neck, brought her mouth close to one of his pointed ears, and before she could even mutter her prayer into his ear she was plunged under. Her moan a shameless call of completion, a low, loud groan the quick following answer. 

He continued for as long as he could, through both of their peaks and slowing not long after. His arms weak, holding her so close whispering her name gently as he collapsed to his side. Unwilling to drop upon her, even if he was very aware the weight of a singular elezen would be naughty but a minor annoyance. 

She, with lazy tired eyes and a wide smile upon her face, could do naught but giggle more. He found it impossible not to join her in that happy laughter. They both felt so weak. They both felt so...happy. He exhaled, the smile lingering. 

“Now just to wake up...” a sadness lingered in his voice as his eyes traced hearts into the rafters. He was surprised when he felt warmth upon his chest again, only to look down and see her nestled up next to him, her head on his chest, and her hand not too far from there. 

“I hope we never do.” she responded, just as melancholy. “I don’t wish for whatever this is to end, ever.” Curling up even more, she nuzzled at his chest and closed her eyes, not so much waiting for a new wave of sleep to carry her away, but being yanked by the ankles and pulled under.

“Hmph” He smirked, laying his own hand on her shoulder. “If this isn’t a dream then, if this is our new reality. That wasn’t exactly something friends do now was it?” She chuckled once more, opening a single eye to look up at him, her mischievous smile back on her face.

“You’re very right there Ser Azure Dragoon. ” She traced hearts absently on his chest, her smile fading from chaotic to peaceful. 

“Then what, pray tell, is it?” He asked, his heart stuttering and nerves flaring. Unsure what answer he’d want to hear. 

“I don’t know Estinien.” Her voice was but a whisper, fragile like snow, but warm like embers. “I’ll leave it up to you, it’s your turn to figure out the words.” Her eyes fluttered shut again, snuggling closer still, wrapping one of her legs around his. Like one very comfortable koala. 

“I want it to be real.” He whispers, wistful, reaching for her hand to grasp. She smiled, nodding and letting out her own dreamy sigh before yawning loudly. 

“I love you.” she murmurs, before once more being stolen away by the restful hands of sleep, to leave Estinien stunned and excited. Those words, for him. He laughed, wild and uncontrolled. Those words. Those beautiful three words. For him. He squeezed her hand tight, smiling wide, letting his own eyes fall closed. 

“And I love you Dee, now and forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Two chapters. This thing was suppose to be two chapters. Yet before i started editing this first one it was at a flat 7,000 words.


End file.
